They came to a halt beside the river just as its water level began to drop at a visible pace.

  Arin raised his fist, and the entire group froze instantly, crouching low in practiced silence. Forty figures melted into the tall grass, careful to keep their silhouettes from breaking the horizon line. Even under the pale moonlight, discipline held—no unnecessary movement, no sound beyond slow, controlled breathing.

  They were still nearly a kilometer away from the bridge.

  The river before them no longer roared with the same violence as before. Its surface churned uneasily, as if resisting something unseen, and the exposed stone beneath the retreating water gleamed faintly like the spine of a sleeping beast.

  Tom stared at the shadow stretching across the river, mouth slightly open.

  “…Okay,” he whispered. “Someone explain how that works.”

  The bridge was unmistakable now.

  What had once seemed like an unbroken torrent of water had peeled away to reveal a colossal stone structure—wide, ancient, and impossibly solid. It stretched from one side of the river to the other like a scar carved into the world itself.

  Arin narrowed his eyes.

  “Well,” he said quietly, “this certainly explains how the goblins crossed. And how the scouts missed it.” He glanced sideways. “Anyone have a theory?”

  Tom raised a finger immediately, unable to restrain himself.

  “Yes. Actually.”

  Arin resisted the urge to sigh.

  “According to the map,” Tom continued, lowering his voice but failing to hide the smug edge creeping into it, “this river flows into a bay that opens directly to the ocean. The ocean is mana-dense—far too unstable for standard boats unless they’re handcrafted with proper enchantments.”

  Several heads nodded. That much was common knowledge.

  “Because of that,” Tom went on, “the area was deemed unsuitable for large-scale crossings. Scouting near the ocean was reduced. However—” He paused for dramatic effect. “—they did note that this river experiences strong ebb and flow.”

  Arin’s expression sharpened.

  “You’re saying—”

  “Exactly,” Tom said, practically glowing. “This bridge is about ten kilometers inland. During ebb tide, the river drains rapidly, exposing the bridge. During flood tide, it submerges again. The scouts simply… missed the timing.”

  Silence followed.

  “…Damn,” someone muttered.

  Arin exhaled slowly. “So if we hadn’t been sent specifically to investigate this route, we would’ve missed it too.”

  The thought made his stomach twist.

  How many secrets like this were hidden across the land? How many paths existed that no one knew about—paths that enemies could exploit?

  “Alright,” Arin said at last. “Let’s move closer. Slowly.”

  They advanced carefully, keeping low, bodies brushing against cold, knee-high grass. The closer they got to the bridge, the more exposed the terrain became. There was nowhere to hide here—no trees, no rocks, no elevation.

  At one hundred meters out, Arin signaled another halt.

  They lay flat in the grass, scanning the area with trained eyes.

  Minutes passed.

  Then an hour.

  “I don’t see any encampments,” Lilian whispered. “No fire pits. No movement.”

  Arin frowned. “That’s… suspicious.”

  “Do we advance?” Lilian asked.

  “Yes,” Arin decided after a moment. “But carefully. Spread out in a wide circle. Watch for pits or concealed positions. A few of us will approach the bridge directly.”

  The group moved with quiet precision, fanning out around the area. Arin’s concern grew as he examined the ground.

  Knee-high grass was dangerous.

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  Goblin pit traps were infamous—simple, brutal, and often invisible until it was too late. And yet… the grass here was mostly intact.

  Which meant the goblins hadn’t lingered.

  They had crossed quickly, vanishing into the forest beyond before their presence could scar the land.

  Once Arin received the signal that the perimeter was clear, he motioned Bertho forward.

  “Alright,” Arin said quietly. “Let’s get what we came for. How wide is the bridge?”

  Bertho peered over the edge, carefully measuring with practiced eyes. “Roughly one hundred meters wide. Lengthwise, about two kilometers—same as the river. Structurally similar to the bridges near the Sea Fortress.”

  “And how long until it submerges again?”

  Bertho glanced at the rising water below. “Maybe an hour. Two at most. Walkable for about two to three hours total.”

  Arin’s jaw tightened.

  “Not much time,” he muttered.

  The bridge was a miracle—and a nightmare.

  “Alright,” Arin said decisively. “We’ve seen enough. We can’t afford to stay here.”

  Tom blinked. “We’re… not crossing now?”

  “No,” Arin said flatly. “We only have seven days of food left. Our return route isn’t reliable in our current condition. And I really don’t want to climb that tunnel hungry.”

  That earned a few grim chuckles.

  “We go back to the cave,” Arin continued. “Sleep. Then we move. Fast.”

  He turned and signaled the retreat.

  As they ran back toward their temporary shelter, Arin glanced over his shoulder.

  The river was already reclaiming its secret.

  Foaming water surged forward, swallowing the stone inch by inch until the bridge vanished beneath the surface once more—hidden just five meters below, as if it had never existed at all.

  Seven days later.

  The forest near the hidden hatch was eerily quiet.

  Arin and his family stood together, listening as Lilian delivered her report. Her expression was grim, and that alone told him enough.

  “I regret to inform you,” Lilian said, “that the hatch is no longer accessible.”

  A murmur rippled through the group.

  “The goblins have occupied the area,” she continued. “They’re cutting down trees. Harvesting leaves. And… building.”

  “Building?” someone echoed.

  “Siege weapons,” Lilian confirmed. “Ladders. And what I believe to be the framework of a siege tower.”

  Silence fell like a hammer.

  “That means they’re preparing for an attack that could catch them off guard,” Bertho said darkly.

  “Yes,” Arin agreed. “And it also means Plan One is dead.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “We fall back to Plan Two.”

  Crossing the bridge.

  “The goblins either haven’t attacked yet because they’re preparing these weapons,” Arin continued, “or they already attacked, failed, and are adapting. Either way, we need to warn the fortresses.”

  He looked around at the tired faces—hungry, thirsty, exhausted.

  “And we need to convince them that goblins are no longer just mindless beasts,” Arin said. “Because they’re building siege weapons now. And most people won’t believe that.”

  He tightened his grip on his bow.

  “Take only what you can carry on your person,” he ordered. “Be ready to abandon your packs. If we have to fight across that bridge, speed matters more than supplies.”

  No one argued.

  Their food was gone. Their water was gone.

  All that remained was resolve.

  “Let’s move,” Arin said.

  And together, they walked toward the bridge that breathed with the tide—toward the truth that could decide the fate of everything they hold dear, because if those forts were breached, humanity would be finished.